


Everyone Goes Home for Thanksgiving

by Arsenic



Category: Next to Normal - Kitt/Yorkey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Natalie's first Thanksgiving after leaving for college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Goes Home for Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibi1723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/gifts).



> Unbeta'ed due to the time crunch of treats. Hope you enjoy.

Natalie is not surprised to find she likes college. After all, it is pretty much everything she has ever wanted: a place far away from the whispers of Gabe, a place where nobody knows her and she can be whomever she chooses to be, a place where her mind is filled with chord progressions and calculus and things that allow her not to think outside of them. Honestly, getting lost in her music theory exam feels almost as good as the drugs had.

She doesn't go in for that source of distraction any more. She goes to parties with the other music majors, she drinks, even gets drunk. But when the pull of something sharper, more dangerous sings under her skin she calls Henry. She doesn't even have to say what is wrong. He will find a way to make her laugh, to ease the pressure inside her chest, put her gently back on solid ground.

No, liking college is not a surprise at all. The homesickness, on the other hand, is.

*

She ends up buying a plane ticket home for Thanksgiving. She doesn't tell her dad. They talk almost daily, but somehow it never comes up. Mostly he asks her how school is going and she tells him to get out of the house. She's almost at a loss for things to say when he responds, "I joined a cycling club."

In the end, she grins. "You haven't ridden a bike since I was like, seven."

He laughs. "Turns out, it's not 'just like riding a bike.'"

She asks how many times he's fallen over. He declines to answer.

*

Henry picks her up from the airport. His arms still feel steady and warm. He says, "Jesus, girl, you look good."

"Mm," she says, meaning 'you do too,' meaning 'I miss you.'

He takes her to one of the coffee shops she's missed. For a few hours, they catch up in ways that don't require privacy, but aren't really possible over the phone, either. At a lull he asks, "Do you want me to take you home? Or you wanna stay with me?"

It's tempting, of course it is. Natalie has spent her entire cognizant life just wanting to get away, but truth wins over instinct and she shakes her head. "Home."

*

Henry doesn't come in with her. He asks if she wants him to, but really, she needs some time alone with her father. She unlocks the front door and slips inside. The front of the house is dark. "Dad?"

She sets her bag in the front hall and moves to the kitchen. It's then that she sees the light coming from the bedroom. She calls again, "Dad?"

He comes to the door of the room, his expression wary and Natalie knows she should have told him she was coming. This house is haunted, literally and figuratively. "Hey daddy."

"Nat? _Nat?_ It's—I mean," he's moving toward her, arms open, and she meets him halfway, "are you—why didn't you say anything, tell me you were coming?"

From the safety of his grasp she admits, "I dunno. Couldn't."

"I don't—I didn't even grocery shop."

Natalie supposes one plus of her mother living on Planet Diana three-fourths of the time is that it means she and her dad both know how to cook. "We'll hit the 24-hour grocery."

It's a while before he manages to let go. They climb into his car and drive to the store. There, they scavenge the last package of cranberries to be seen anywhere. Both ham and turkey are sold out, so they pick out a couple of Cornish hens, because it seems kind of fancy and holiday-like. The sweet potatoes that are left look unappealing, so they decide not to bother, and grab up the things they need for green-bean casserole instead.

They grab a pre-made pie shell and some canned pumpkin, as well as a brownie mix. All in all, by the time they leave, they have substantially more food than the two of them can eat. Natalie feels like maybe she should be bothered by that, most of her life having been an exercise in being edged out by voices that weren't her own, voices she couldn't—can't—hear. Instead she thinks that maybe she'll get Henry to come by later, after his own dinner, and share the spoils.

*

She sleeps in the day of Thanksgiving, and when she wakes, the smell of roasting poultry reaches her nose. She pads out to the kitchen. In the living room, one of the games is playing. She kisses her dad on the cheek and says, "Good morning."

He smiles. "OJ's in the fridge, kiddo."

She pours herself some, and gets a bowl of cereal, sitting at the table and watching her dad work on the cranberry sauce. She asks, "Did you put the chilies in it?"

She loves heat in her food, but asking is weird. She's programmed herself not to ask, not to admit to her own wants and needs. For a second, she freezes. Then her dad says, "It's gonna be a three –alarm cranberry sauce," with a laugh.

And just then, it's the two of them, light streaming through the windows, nowhere for ghosts to hide. She grins. "Perfect."


End file.
